


Feelin' Fine

by Estelathan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Season/Series 07 Spoilers, Some foul lanuage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:46:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estelathan/pseuds/Estelathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is dead, Sam's a few nuts short of a sundae, and Dean's fine .... So why does nobody seem to believe him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feelin' Fine

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intended to take place in early Season 7 and contains some spoilers. Comments are appreciated!

 

 

"I said I'm _fine_ Sam, so just drop it alright?" Dean grunted as he pushed his way past his brother into their latest crappy motel room to drop boneless on the nearest of the two beds and sling an arm up over his eyes. God, he was freaking _tired._ Even without seeing it he could feel the heat of Sam's gaze drilling into him as he shuffled into the room and shut the door behind him but frankly Dean didn't give a damn. He knew Sam was just itching to say something but Dean remained where he was slung over the bed. It had been a long-ass day and at the moment all he really wanted was to be left the hell alone.

Sam doesn't say anything despite Dean knowing he's simmering but, predictably, he doesn't leave either. There's the sound of his footsteps trailing across the room followed by the thump of Sam tossing his stuff on the other bed before the footsteps start up again. They stop briefly at the foot of the bed Dean's on and he waits with baited breath for Sam to start in with the nagging again but instead all Dean gets is the familiar rustle of a newspaper being opened and the squeak of metal on hardwood as a chair is pulled out. From under the cover of his arm Dean rolls his eyes; good ole' Sammy—they'd just finished up one job and already the kid was looking for another. It strikes Dean that Sam's acting like him, and he snorts at the irony, but he’s content to let it lie for now. Closing his eyes he rolls over, buries his face into the pillow ... only to groan as, right on time, Sam's nagging starts up all over again from across the room: "You're going to sleep now? Without dinner? Are you sure you're okay?"

Dean groans again into the pillow and briefly entertains the thought of throttling his little brother before dismissing it as too much effort on his part. Instead he groans for a third time, dramatically, and rolls over just enough to crack open one eye to peer blearily at Sam. "What part of 'I'm fine' did you not get?" He grumbles, his voice partially muffled by the pillow. "How many times do I gotta say it? I just want to sleep!" Deep down there's a part of Dean that wants to kick his ass for the way he's behaving like the world's oldest two-year old right now but give him a freaking break already! If by some slim chance he lived long enough to utter last words, and who was he kidding here--that was a helluva small chance, Dean was fairly certain they would be along the tune of 'I'm fine' considering how many times he had uttered those words lately. Yeah, saying it didn't meant he actually felt it, but still, hadn't Dean had enough crap heaped upon him lately? Couldn’t Sam just take the hint and leave him in peace for a few hours?

Apparently the act was getting thin or Sam was just tired of buying the crap Dean was spouting if the grunt he gave in response was anything to go by. It was hard to tell across the room but Dean could perfectly imagine his brother rolling his eyes to the ceiling like he always did when he was really fed up with Dean's shit. They remained that way, caught in a silent standoff, as the seconds ticked by before Sam finally relented. "Fine, if that's what you want to go with." He huffed, still clearly annoyed, but didn't press the issue further.

Victory! The silence that followed Sam's acquiesce was music to Dean's ears as he smirked into his pillow and closed his eye again. They were going to end up talking about things sooner or later, Dean knew, but for now he was content to go back to napping while he had the chance.

If truth be told Dean knew he wasn't fine no matter how much time and effort he spent spouting off to anyone who would listen otherwise. How could he be considering everything that had happened to them lately? If he had to sum up his life up until this point he'd have to go with: fucked. Cas was dead and no amount of bullshit denial could fully smother the fact the loss still hurt like a sombitch; Sam was so far off the deep end these days he was seeing Lucifer at every turn and lying about it just to ease Dean's mind; and despite how much he wanted to, Dean knew he had no way of fixing the situation. If that wasn't enough then there was all the guilt and remorse and the white-hot rage to kill all those Leviathan bastards who started this nightmare in the first place piling on his shoulders like a ton of bricks weighing him down. When you looked at it like that it was pretty damn impressive that Dean was still functioning and not some gibbering mess stashed into a corner somewhere! So yeah, he was freaking far from being classified anywhere close to being 'fine' but hell if Dean was actually going to admit it to anyone. Someone needed to be the glue holding the pieces together and Dean was determined not to break any more than he already had. He wouldn't fail a second time.

 

 

.

 

 

  
.

 

 

  
"Dean."

 

 

  
.

 

 

  
.

 

 

  
_"Dean."_

 

 

  
He must have finally dropped off to sleep somewhere down the line because the next thing Dean's fully aware of is the sound of his name being called by a familiar gruff voice that can't possibly be real. Dean shudders like he's been doused in cold water and thinks he should have taken Sam up on getting some grub before going to sleep because he's gotta be hallucinating or something, and with the knowledge that he's probably not going to like what he sees, opens his eyes. He's right: he is hallucinating because standing there beside his bed like the creepy nighttime stalker he was is none other than Cas: poor supposed-to-be-dead bastard that he is. He has his back to Dean but there's no mistaking that dirty trench coat or perpetually messy hair and for a moment Dean full out gapes because it's _Cas_ and Cas is dead. He saw him die a watery death so what's he doing here in his dreams all of a sudden? "C-Cas?" Dean finally chokes out, feeling like his throat is going to close up.

"Dean." The angel says, and my god Dean must have went off the deep end with Sammy because it sounds so real Dean feels like he's been punched in the gut. Castiel turns while Dean's still trying to process it all, and dream or not there's no mistaking those deep blue eyes piercing through him. At the realization a barrage of emotions rise up inside him: anger, sorrow, regret, guilt— everything he's been pushing down is rising to the surface in a twisting, writhing mess. It's everything he's been suppressing for months now and Dean doesn't know what to do with it. There's a million things on the tip of his tongue; things he wants to say, even more that he wants to yell, and nearly all of them aren't exactly kosher to be saying to an angel but who gives a friggin crap? Cas was dead; he abandoned Dean when he needed him the most and hell if he's going to go off and disappear again without Dean getting his two cents in first!

Anger ignited, Dean surges up off the bed like a man possessed and reaches out to grab a handful of Cas' coat before the angel can make a move to get away. "Why?" He asks, the single word the sum of all his frustrations as he manhandles Cas and matches his creepy soul-seeing stare with a glare of his own. **"Why?"** He repeats again, his voice a terrible mixture of a snarl and a growl as he gives in and shakes the angel. "Why couldn't you just listen to me?" Because that was the root of the issue right there, wasn't it? Dean had tried again and again to tell Cas what a freaking idiot he was being but the angel had ignored him at every turn and just look where that had gotten him!

"Dean, I. . ." Castiel starts, blue eyes going wide in surprise as Dean roughly tugs him around and shakes him, only to falter in the face of so much anger directed his way. "I don't know what you want me to say." The angel finally settles on as he raises a hand up to rest against one of Dean's where it’s clenched around a handful of his coat. "I'm sorry."

"Bull!" Dean spits back because Cas isn't stupid and they both know it, just like he knows they both know that Cas had never apologized for all the dick moves he’d made, not really. Yeah, he’d tried there at the end but Dean hadn’t been interested in listening then and was in no mood for a repeat performance from whatever kind of screwed up dream this was shaping out to be now. The last thing he needed was guilt tripping from his subconscious on the top of the real guilt he already felt!

Castiel tilts his head as he regards Dean, his expression waffling the middle ground somewhere between fear and confusion. His charge often baffles him, much more so than any other human’s he’s encountered but what could Dean possibly want him to say? “I said I was sorry, Dean.” He offers before pursing his lip and frowning.

“You—you’re _sorry?”_ Dean asks, incredulity dripping from every word as he looks at Cas like the angel’s suddenly grown two extra heads or something. “I—I can’t believe you! The nerve---“He explodes then cuts off, shaking his head harshly. Where did Cas get off? What the hell did he think he was playing at here? Did he think an apology would fix everything? Seriously? “You stupid, selfish son of a bitch!” Dean growls, suddenly far past caring that all this is in his head and is nothing more than a screwed up dream. “You think an apology is going to fix everything? What the hell’s wrong with you man? Are you even listening to yourself?” Dean could go on forever, he’s shaking with rage but he manages to push himself away in an attempt to reel himself in before he decides to clock the dead angel.

“Dean. . .” Cas’ face crumples and good god he has a worse kicked-puppy look than Sam does as Dean shoves him away. Dean only catches a glimpse of it before he’s turning away but it strikes him all the same deep down on a level he just doesn’t want to think about right now. Behind him he can feel Cas move before the angel is speaking again: “I felt your despair, Dean,” Despite the ever-present deepness of his voice there’s an odd quietness to Cas’ words as he speaks. “And I could not bare to stay away.”

_Son of a bitch!_ Inwardly Dean seethes because just like that he’s gone from being pissed to feeling like an outright dick and it just figures he’d end up being the ass here one way or the other. He huffs and crosses his arms across his chest, biting back on the first seven or so things that pop in his head. When he finally feels like he can speak again without resorting back to biting off the angel’s head again Dean falls right back into what he’s been saying all along: “I’m fine Cas—can we just drop it already?!” And okay, maybe that came out harsher than he intended but give the guy a break.

“Dude, you’re so not fine.” In the blink of an eye Cas’ voice has somehow morphed into Sam’s, and great just freakin’ great, because the damn puppy dog eyes weren’t bad enough, and Dean whips around ----

 

 

\---- Only to find himself blinking up sleepily at Sam, who’s hovering above him with a worried expression on his face. “Are you okay?” He asks cautiously like he’s worried Dean’s going to rise up and rip him a new one for asking, “You were yelling in your sleep.”

“Wha? Sammy?” Dean slurs and blinks, utterly confused as his brain tries to switch gears from his crazy dream to being awake again. “…Wasn’t yelling…” He mutters as he struggles his way into a sitting position.

“Sure you weren’t.” Sam snorts, backing up a few steps as Dean sits up. “I could hear you clear across the room, you sounded pretty pissed dude. Are you sure you’re okay?”

What the hell is with everyone asking him that question? Dean groans loudly as he grabs the nearest pillow and flings it right into Sam’s face before he’s flopping down on the bed again. “I’m fine Sam!” He groans into the mattress with the weary effort of one who is simply done with everything as he pulls the remaining pillow over his head. “I ain’t saying it again, just drop it.”

While there’s a few muffled curses thankfully Sam drops the subject … And the pillow on the top of Dean’s head.


End file.
